


kilo india sierra sierra india november golf

by visiblemarket



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, I Don't Even Know, M/M, and Melinda May obvs, such ridiculously pointless fluff, with special appearances by FitzSimmons and Agent Grant Ward
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-23
Updated: 2013-11-23
Packaged: 2018-01-02 10:49:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1055895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/visiblemarket/pseuds/visiblemarket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil and Clint, sitting in a tree. </p>
<p>Although, not quite.</p>
<p>A tree is involved, at least. </p>
<p>(There is also a significant amount of kissing).</p>
            </blockquote>





	kilo india sierra sierra india november golf

**Author's Note:**

  * For [esmidsm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/esmidsm/gifts).



> Inspired by [the most adorable Clint/Coulson fanart ever](http://esmidsm.tumblr.com/post/66989075192/thanks-you-guys-for-your-interesting-prompts-last), by [esmidsm](http://esmidsm.tumblr.com/).

It's not like Phil was _really_ expecting a quiet walk through the jungle (Phil has long since stopped expecting _anything_ in his life to go quietly), but he was definitely not prepared to hear a loud crack, followed the sound of something heavy falling very quickly, a pained yelp, and then a very familiar voice calling out, "Aw, _fuck_ ," coming from very, very close. 

He walks toward the noise with probably less caution than it merits, but the sight he's confronted with when he enters a small clearing is worth it. 

"Okay," Clint says, swaying a little in the breeze. "This looks bad."

Phil doesn't even bother to hold back his smile. "Oh, you think?" 

"Fuck you, sir," he says, with no real venom, and struggles a little as the wind twists him in the opposite direction. Phil walks toward him, noting the snapped branches scattered beneath him. Once he's close enough to touch, he grasps Clint's shoulder and eases him back around so they're face to face. Sort of. 

"What happened?"

"Well, I was in the tree," Clint says, nodding up, or trying to. Phil peers up: the journey down was a long and hilariously obvious one, and Clint is lucky to have been caught by what looks like a tangle of vines. "And, uh, the branch I was on…kind of…broke?"

"Okay," Phil says, trying not to get distracted by the view of Clint's chest where his shirt has fallen down as he figures out how untangle him. It's going to take some work: Clint's legs are pretty well caught in the vines, and he's too high up for Phil to cut them himself, at least from the ground. "Are you all right?"

"Except for the fact that I'm hanging upside down from tree, sir?" Clint gives an odd, abrogated little shrug. "I think I'll be fine."

It's probably true: the vines around his legs seem to be well distributed enough that they're not putting too much strain on his ankles, and there's a couple of small scrapes and bruises his torso, but nothing too serious. It's not the best position to spend hours in, but as long as Phil gets him down in the next few minutes, there shouldn't be any problems.

"What were you doing up there, anyway?" he asks, though he's got a pretty good idea. 

"Uhhh," Clint says, obviously stalling. "Surveillance."

"Oh?" he says, taking a step back and glancing around the tree. It's wide, and he figures he'll need to get a good look around the whole thing to figure out a route that'll get him close enough to cut Clint down. "Anything I should know about?" 

"Just, you know, the usual. Blood cults, human sacrifices. That kind of thing."

Phil _had_ heard something about that, given that it was the reason the team was down here to begin with. It'd turned out to be a bunch of American archeology students who were a little too into their field of study. 

"That was dealt with yesterday, Barton," he calls out, completing his circuit around the tree. 

"Just makin' sure, sir. And then this morning…" 

This morning there'd been a mild skirmish with local security forces. Nothing his team couldn't handle, and he told Clint that, coming right back in front of him to make sure he was paying attention.

Clint frowns. "People were shooting at you, sir. You could always use someone there to shoot back."

"That's Agent Ward's job, Barton. Not yours." He says it without thinking, and Clint only looks like he's been sucker punched for a second before his expression reverts to the cocky smirk of before. 

"I thought you liked it when people took initiative, sir." 

"Oh, I do. I especially love it when my specialist falls out of trees because he's decided to _take initiative_."

Clint grins. "Your specialist, huh?" 

Phil ignores that. "What would you have done if I wasn't here?"

"Scream bloody murder till someone else showed up, probably." 

"No, you wouldn't have."

"I'd've figured something out." Clint kind of shrugs again. It looks ridiculous. "No worries."

"I have half a mind to leave you up there." They both know he's lying. Phil sighs. "You don't have to keep checking up on me."

"I know I don't _have_ to," Clint says. "I _want_ to. Okay?"

And he looks so earnest, even upside, and it's been so long, that there's nothing Phil can do but grab the collar of his jacket, drag him over, and kiss him.

Clint flails a little when it happens, but his mouth opens immediately. And it's odd, it's _very_ odd, the way their tongues slide over each other like this, but he could get used to it. Could definitely get used to the happy sounds Clint keeps making, sweet little hums as he curls his tongue over Phil's and grabs at Phil's shoulder with his still-flailing hands. Once he's got a bit more of a grip he pulls back.

"Fuck, that's a rush," Clint says, and he looks a little more hazy than he did before. "My blood doesn't know where the hell it wants to go right now."

"Clint—" he starts, but Clint just drags himself over, bumps his nose against Phil's chin, wraps his hand around the back of Phil's neck, and kisses him again. It's definitely a rush for him too, just the way Clint's clutching at him and kissing him so hard that it takes Phil's breath away. "We have to get you down from there," he says, when they finally disengage enough that he _can_ speak, though they're still so close that he can still feel Clint's warm breaths on his lips.

"Fine, _fine_ , just—" Clint leans in and Phil meets him automatically, but keeps it quick: he wants to be able to touch more of Clint than just his shoulders and his face, and that's not going to happen till he's got both feet on the ground again. "You got your pocket knife on you?" Clint mumbles, eventually.

"Uh-huh," Phil murmurs back, and it takes him too long, too many seconds of staring at Clint's mouth and wanting to reach up to run his hands over Clint's abs, for him to connect what Clint was asking about and what he needed to do with it. He retrieves the knife from his pocket. Clint plucks it from Phil's hand and flips it open smoothly. Phil glances up. 

"Can you reach?"

"Probably?" Clint shrugs again. "Just, uh—" he grabs for Phil's shoulder. "Just stay there." 

Phil does; Clint takes a deep breath, squeezes Phil's shoulder, then lets go and bends almost in half. It's fascinating, the muscles in his back straining as Phil watches him from underneath. He seems to be struggling. 

"Dammit," Clint says, as he flops back down. "Shirt keeps gettin' in my way. Can you…?"

"Here." Phil peels it down off his arms, along with his jacket. When he's done, Clint gives him a smile that indicates something very inappropriate is about to come out of his mouth, and Phil shakes his head. "Focus."

Clint snorts. "No fun," he says, as he swings himself up again, and this time, he manages, sawing carefully through the vines, starting with the ones by his ankles. Phil starts to hear the remaining ones creaking, and Clint calls down: "Almost done."

"Be careful," he says, pointlessly, because Clint won't. Sure enough, the last few vines snap before Clint can cut them, but Clint manages to twist in midair and land on his feet. He crouches for a moment, getting used to being on the ground again before turning around to face Phil. 

"Hey there," Clint says, hip cocked as he reaches out a hand. Phil laughs and hands him his shirt and his jacket. Clint takes it with a smirk, slipping the shirt on over his head (inside out and backwards, Phil notices, but doesn't say anything about it). "Now, where were we?" 

"We should get back to the bus."

"Oh, yeah, sure." Clint slips his jacket back on. "We should definitely do that. _Eventually_."

"Clint…" He watches as Clint stalks up to him, and quite willingly lets himself get backed up against a tree. "Is now really the time?"

"Yup," Clint says. Phil laughs, and Clint kisses him. It's nice, having Clint up against him, familiar and solid, when so many things in Phil's life right now are the opposite. It's perfect, really. Utterly wonderful.

It's wonderful for all of maybe 30 seconds, before Phil hears a branch snap. 

"Oh! Fitz! I found him! And your mystery tree man too, I think!" 

Phil holds in a groan but lets his head fall back against the tree. Simmons shoots him an apologetic look. "Sorry, sir," she says. "You were gone such a long while, and we were very worried, and Fitz said he'd seen someone up in the trees, so we all thought— " before she can finish, Ward and Fitz trample their way into the clearing as well. He's distantly glad that Skye isn't with them; May wouldn't care. 

And to FitzSimmon's credit, neither of them seem to care either: they look, at most, slightly surprised to see their boss pressed up against a tree by a mysterious man they may or may not recognize. Ward mostly looks confused.

"Agent Barton," he says, looking everywhere but at the two of them. "Good to—how are—hello."

"Hello, Agent Ward," Clint says, with as friendly a smile as he can manage. Phil's so proud. "We should have lunch."

Ward blinks and looks _painfully_ uncomfortable "Are you…are you asking me out on a date, sir?"

Clint looks at him, then at Phil. _Is this guy for real?_

Phil shrugs. _You get used to it._

Clint smirks and looks back at Ward. "Yeah, Ward, I'm asking you out, right in front of my boyfriend, who I was just making out with, who's _also_ your boss. That makes a lot of sense."

"Oh," Ward says. "Oh, well. I'll let you— _we'll_ let you— get back to that, then. Sir." At least he has the awareness to drag FitzSimmons with him, though Fitz squeaks some as he goes. 

Clint lets out a small snort of laughter, and he's still pressed so closely to Phil's chest that it startles a laugh out of him too. Their eyes meet. "Busted," Clint says, and after that, they can't stop, just stand there, leaning against each other and giggling.

Finally, when they can look at each other without cracking up, Clint pulls back. Phil grabs his wrist and uses it to leverage himself away from the tree. Keeps his hold even as they start the walk back to the bus.

"Why do you want to have lunch with Ward?" Phil says, idly, once the plane is in sight.

"I just thought we should talk some things through. Like how, when your team leader goes wandering alone through a jungle filled with hostiles, you should probably not believe he's just going for a walk. Speaking of, what _were_ you doin’ out there?"

"I knew you were out there."

Clint stops dead on the loading ramp. "No. No way. Since when?"

Phil keeps walking. "Since yesterday," he calls back, over his shoulder.

" _What_?" Clint jogs to catch up with him. "Phil, it was pouring out, you did _not_ know I was out there."

Phil shrugs. "May," he calls out. "What did I say to you last night?"

May doesn't look up from the cup of tea she's drinking. "You asked if I thought you should invite Barton to come on the bus instead of spending the night outside."

"And you said…?"

"To leave him. Sleeping in the rain builds character."

Clint glares. May raises her eyebrows, asking him if he _really_ wants to go down that road. Clint obviously knows better, and ducks his head. He does thrust his hip into Phil's, and Phil gives a playful bump back. Clint laughs, delightedly, and wraps an arm around his waist. "C'mon, sir. I think you owe me the grand tour."

"I'm sure it's nothing you haven't seen before, Barton." 

Clint half turns and props his chin on Phil's shoulder. "Oh, I'm counting on that, Coulson," he says, leering a little, and Phil sees May roll her eyes as she retrieves her tea and heads up the stairs. 

Phil turns; Clint's staring at his mouth and not bothering to hide it. His hair's a mess, full of leaves, his shirt is inside out, backwards, and wrinkled as hell, and his lips have the full, lush look of the kiss-swollen. It really must look like Phil snuck out to ravish his secret boyfriend in the middle of the jungle. "You are going to ruin my reputation, Agent Barton," he says, and Clint snorts.

"I'm looking forward to it, sir."

**Author's Note:**

> I think it took me longer to come up with a title for this than it did to write it. Oops.


End file.
